My legs were bruised and sore from kicking a disinterested horse - and Bear's were tired from his own long day of riding - but it was far too beautiful a day to stay home. After weeks of living under a grey-brown curtain, I finally came to the the top of my hiking hill to see Catalina's long green back rising out of the water...and such a thing bears celebration.
So we met up in Eagle Rock for a pair of coffees and a quick wander down to the hip little wine purveyor down the street, where we mused for a minute over a taster of tempranillo and browsed for a suitable bottle. I've been jonesing to try some of the newer dry rieslings, so we picked up an Austian bottle - a 2003 Johann Donabaum (Wachauer Federspiel).
Now, I'm usually a butter-my-bread Chard kinda girl when it comes to whites. I generally like 'em cuddly and malolactic - more of a lazy-late-autumn style, full of baked fruit smells and afternoon colours. In my few forays into crisp minerality, I've discovered more misses than hits; after all, it's a short road from subtle to insipid, and a difficult line to walk.
This one? Whoa.
It was mountain spring water coming over warm summer rocks, distilled. It was handfuls of clover and a sundress just pulled down from the backyard clothesline. It was sharp with new growth and lemon-bright.
It was awesome.
We finished the bottle perched on a rock wall under a canopy of old trees on the old Cobb Estate grounds, chatting up the steady parade of dog-walkers as they tromped by.
It's a wonder that life can be so unrelentingly sweet.